


A Warm Red Nursery

by strititty



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Breeding, Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Come Inflation, Eldritch Abominations (Cthulhu Mythos), Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Impregnation, Love Confessions, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26052619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strititty/pseuds/strititty
Summary: Karkat probably should not have come over when Rose told him not to. There's some weird shit going on at her house.
Relationships: Rose Lalonde/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28
Collections: Drone Season 2020





	A Warm Red Nursery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grubbutts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grubbutts/gifts).



> >:) hope you enjoy

Rose has been hiding away, and Karkat doesn’t like it.

Sure, she’s always been prone to sequestering herself--when she gets overwhelmed she can be waspish and cruel, and then she’ll retreat to her home. Sometimes she just finds a very good book, and she’ll not leave her room for days and days while she devours it and the series it came with and writes a long analysis on its content. 

(He can relate.)

Occasionally the muse takes her and she spends days at a time writing wizard fic that she hardly ever shows to anybody, but after she’s done she shows it to him and it makes him feel. Special. Really special. 

Rose makes him feel special. That’s why when she gets into these moods he’s always there, flinging food at her to remind her to eat, or dragging her to the bathroom to make sure she’s clean and not about to piss herself because she hasn’t gotten up in six hours. (There was that one time she did piss herself and it was all around embarrassing and strangely enchanting and Karkat is not thinking about it, he is not.) Often, Rose is agitated by his interruptions, which leads to snippy arguments that end in her being quietly thankful and Karkat being stupidly in love.

And oh, he is so in love. His bloodpusher’s always been prone to wandering wild and free and depositing itself into the lap of anyone who’ll have it. He falls so easy and so hard and it’s fucking embarrassing, is what it is. The worst part is he’s pretty sure Rose knows and she hasn’t said anything, so maybe she hates him and thinks he’s a bulge mongering idiot or-- or-- she’s too embarrassed to say something so they’re both going to be swirling around each other in this hellhole of happenstance. 

Still. Rose has been hiding away, and he doesn’t like it. She’s been answering his trolls, mostly, if only to say that no, she’s fine, Karkat if you come over here right now I’ll psychoanalyze you within an inch of your life. He asks what she’s doing and she doesn’t answer, and that’s violently concerning. Normally she’s willing to expand in great detail about whatever she’s reading, from first impressions to the disassembly of character, or sometimes she’ll go radio silent because she’s so engrossed in what she’s doing.

That’s not happening here. It’s just ‘Not now, Karkat.’ 

Karkat is practically getting an ulcer over it.

The obvious solution is to go over to her house, because that’s never gone wrong. She’s been angry before, sure, but she’s never pulled his emotional guts out through his wastechute. Or his actual guts, like some trolls might. ...Alternia sucks, okay.

He waffles on it for ages (she’ll hate him, she’ll respect him; she’ll be furious, she’ll be grateful; she doesn’t want to be bothered, she needs to be bothered) before he finally goes over and rings the doorbell. 

No one answers. Of course no one answers. Why would anyone in the history of ever answer the door after they’ve told everyone to fuck off? ‘Not now.’ Not now his ass. He finds the key so beautifully, delicately laid in front of the formerly passive aggressive now possibly genuine purrbeast-themed welcome mat. Why is it under there? Karkat never understood the human custom as anything except a ‘fuck you, you can’t kill me so I’ll put that key right there.’ The audacity.

But it’s helpful right now, so. What the fuck ever. He opens the door. He enters the house. The temperature drops twenty degrees and the air gets uncomfortably moist and he immediately yells, “What the fresh fucking shit did you do to the place, Lalonde?”

The house echoes back to him, sounding larger than it has any right to. Karkat starts up the stairs, scowling, and every step gets colder and darker, until his breath plumes in the air. Jesus fucking Christ this is some bullshit. “Rose Lalonde, I am going to lose my everloving grubfucking shit if you don’t come out of this god awful fuckfest you’re calling your hive right now. I’m freezing my globes off and I’ve been in here a minute.”

His tromp up the stairs is uninterrupted and curiously quiet save for the echo of his own voice. Even his stomping footsteps don’t make the sound they should. 

The door to Rose’s room looms like it’s grown ten feet since the last time Karkat came over. Darkness, paradoxically, emanates from underneath it. Absolute fuckery is what this is. He grabs the door knob - it’s violently cold and nearly burns his hand - and yanks the door open.

Inside is Rose, of course. Rose coiled in a hundred thousand tentacles, her room too large and somehow not large enough for the writhing mass that surrounds her. One snakes out to grab his wrist.

“What part of ‘Not now, Karkat,’ did you not understand?” Rose says, testy, and the tentacle jerks him into the room. Her voice is overlaid with the slick incomprehensible slither of the broodfester tongues, but fortunately it’s still comprehensible. “I was perfectly clear in my request.”

“And I’m supposed to leave you to your horrorterror BULLSHIT?” His voice is too loud and not loud enough to convey the extent of his displeasure at this idea. The infinite tentacles undulate with discontent. “I’d rather take a sharp prickly rod and shove it up my wastechute than leave you in this cantankerous writhing pile of fuckbeasts for one more minute! How long’s it been since the last time you slept? The last time you ate?”

“One has no need for such trivial pursuits when they’ve ascended to this level of--”

“Rose, for fuck’s sake, if you don’t cut this out I’m going to tear out my own throat rathen than listen to one more second of it.”

The tentacle around his wrist winds further up his arm, under his sweater, and tugs him yet closer to her. “You shouldn’t have come here, Karkat. It’s not safe for someone unaccustomed and uninitiated.”

“I am accustomed! What else do you call coming over here every other week to make sure your gross human apparati haven’t rotted off from immobility.”

“But are you initiated?” There’s a quirk to her black-painted lips bordering on amusement, as though his agitated attitude has soothed her own. A tentacle slips up around his ankle and he squawks, trying to stomp it away. The whole mass in the room shivers, and the door shuts behind him. “Please don’t anger my new appendages, Karkat. I’m not particularly in control of them yet.”

Sorry, what.

“What?” Karkat looks closer, but it’s hard to get a handle on what sort of tentacles are going where. He doesn’t think they’re wearing Rose like a terrifying meatsuit amalgamation, but she is kind of… nested in them. They’re not violently sprouting from her back in some bloody, inky bid for control over her normal human limbs. They are, however, pulling him closer and closer, more winding around him as he goes. Soon the room has vanished altogether.

It’s just the two of them surrounded in a bulbous, writhing mass. Now that he’s close, he can see that Rose’s eyes have rolled back--or else the iris and pupil have just vanished. He’s not sure which is worse, but her eyes are the blank void of dream bubble death and it sends a genuine thrill of panic through him.

“Rose…?”

All the fear he should’ve been feeling up till now hits him with the force of a freight train as Rose smiles and it’s just… wrong. The shape of her mouth twists, her teeth white pearls, the black lipstick a painted maw. Her eyes are voids but somehow he knows, he knows, that they are watching him. Everything in this non-room is watching him with a thousand unseen eyes.

“Now you’re scared,” she says, a touch exasperated. “It wasn’t the cold or the dark or the wet. It took the uncontrollable flail of new, ancient limbs to alarm you. Karkat, sometimes I don’t know what to do with you.”

Again, tentacles wind up his legs. Again, he tries to shake them off. This time they tighten, wriggling against his flesh. It seems like some of them are smooth and soft as jelly, but some of them have suckers popping against his arms. One caresses his face and he slaps it away. “Stop,” he barks at her. His voice cracks. “What did you do? The fuck did you do to herself? Where’s the book you learned about this from so I can burn it and we’ll never have to see this shit again!”

“I’m not going to let you do that,” she informs him. “We have more important things to address.” One of the tentacles is creasing up the inside of his leg, cold even through the fabric of his jeans. “The Great Old Ones have told me such terrible things. Such awe-inspiring, terrible, wonderful things.”

“The Great Old Ones can suck my globes,” Karkat snarls. “Stop this hoofbeastshit, call off your glubby tentacles, and let’s watching some fucking romcoms.”

“Oh, no. No, Karkat. We can’t do that. You see, the Old Ones have very specific plans for me. I am their willing pupil, one of the nexuses of power they have in this world. I would not claim to be special to them, for who can determine what is special to the incomprehensible, even if it’s made slightly more palatable?”

“That sounds like a crock of shit and you should know that.” His voice is strained and pitches high as an exploratory appendage slides over his chest.

Rose smiles. “Doesn’t it just?” 

“Lalonde,” Karkat’s voice cracks again. “Make them stop touching me, I’m going to empty my bile sack all over your floor.”

“What floor?”

Yeah, she makes a fair point. Theoretically Karkat is standing on something, but it’s darkness and tentacles all the way down. He can’t see any carpeting, or really anything at all. It’s just Rose, and hasn’t it always been? At least for the past few perigrees. God damn him, he loves her. 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it. Stop being obtuse! Get them off!”

“I fully intend to,” she says, and then covers her mouth to hide the softest, most amused little chuckle at herself. “That was terrible.”

“What the hell are you talking about--?”

Karkat is intimately distracted by the tiny slithering thing working itself up the inside of his pant leg, far more intimidating than the one which has decided squeezing his ass is its sole purpose in life. Both are bad, but one’s worse. Also perfectly terrible is the one that keeps trying to slip into his mouth, no matter how much he slaps at it. This is like a bad Eastern Alternian anime melting into Troll Freud’s favorite nightmares.

“I wasn’t going to ask you to come until I had better control of my faculties, Karkat,” says Rose, which does not at all answer his question and is fairly intimidating to boot. “You don’t know what it’s like to have a hundred thousand limbs that each desire independence. I wanted to talk to you on even ground, knowing that we could listen to each other. That we could finally talk about what’s been ailing us, and that you could make an informed decision.”

“ROSE,” Karkat snaps. There’s a tentacle in his underwear. There’s a _tentacle_ in his underwear.

“You see, Karkat,” she continues as if he hadn’t spoken, “I love you.”

The world freezes over.

Does she mean it? Can she be trusted to mean it right now? She’s obviously deep in the throes of an eldritch tome, her voice slick and dissonant. There’s no way she means it. She’s out of her head. 

“You don’t fucking know what words are coming out of your seed flap, Rose. Whatever shitty books you’ve been reading bored holes through your thinkpan. I--” The tentacles draw him yet closer to her, uncomfortably so. They’re almost chest to chest now, and his lungs are heaving for air. He’s more desperately afraid now than he has been this whole time. 

“Do you trust me?”

He shudders all over. The tentacles have stilled, as if in anticipation of his answer.

Karkat is uncharacteristically quiet for a long minute before he exhales harshly. “Goddammit, I do, but Rose--”

She pulls him flush against herself and sighs into his neck. “Good.” Her hands, so cold, slip under his sweater. Her additional appendages writhe on his skin with renewed vigor, and one or two slide up between his legs to caress his nook. He’s too scared to be that turned on, too worried for the girl he’s pegged his life on these past few months--his bulge isn’t out and he’s not wet. Still, he whimpers.

“The gods of old want something from us,” she says into his throat, and then presses a waxy kiss there. Karkat shivers. Her mouth is freezing. “They want children.”

“We--we aren’t fucking wigglers anymore, what the fuck, I’m not throwing myself on an altar for your fucked up gods,” he forces out, trying in vain not to think of the squirming dripping thing squeezing between his asscheeks. 

She brings her face up to his. A staredown: blank white versus yellow and mutant red. There’s a quirk to her lip, amused. “No, Karkat. They want someone to birth their children. Surely at this point you know what pregnancy is?”

“WHAT?” Oh, god, it’s all coming together. “I am NOT going to let weird little wigglers eat their way out of my stom--ah!” The curious, caressing tentacle between his legs is starting to try to push its way into his nook, and the results are mixed. He’s tight as fuck, clenched down to prevent intrusion, but at the same time… All this rubbing and squirming is getting to him. Is it possible to be nauseous and turned on at the same time? He might be getting there. 

Rose rubs soft, soothing circles on his chest, her laughter like tinkling bells. “They won’t eat you,” she says. “They’ll grow inside of you. Your belly will round out--” she slides her hand down to rub his stomach and he shivers again, breathing hard, “--and you’ll be so full. They’ll twist inside of you. Your body will be a nursery for the gods of new; you will nurture and protect them, and when it’s time…”

Finally, the tentacle pushing at his nook works its way in. He hisses at the intrusion, at the cold wet sting of it. 

“...you’ll birth them. They’ll come out of your nook. It may hurt, but nothing’s going to eat you.”

It’s very hard to focus on what she’s saying now that something’s undulating inside of him. He’s still wearing pants, for fuck’s sake, but they’re full of cold writhing limbs that seem to thicken and thin as the mood suits them. The seat of his pants actually split as a particularly thick tentacle probes at his wastechute. He whines as his bulge starts to peek out and a smaller tendril comes to greet it.

“Rose,” he whimpers, but that pesky squirming thing that’s been trying to get into his mouth finally manages now that he’s distracted. It stifles him, fills his cheeks with icy wet, pushes his lips into a wide ‘O’ to accept more of it. Her hand dips lower, yet lower, unbuttoning his pants and then unzipping them. Rose puts some effort into pushing them down, and her extra limbs help her. They’re already torn--not difficult to push down to his knees. Conversely, his underwear are damp from the tentacles and, it’s beginning to seem, his own red slick. They’re sticky and hard to pull free. 

Rose manages, because she always manages, but her hands are stained with red and black, like a system Karkat’s always loved but never managed to use properly. His sweater doesn’t come off at all.

She gives him a gentle shove and he falls back, but he doesn’t hit the floor. The nest of tentacles catches him, cradles him like a lover--that’s what he is, isn’t it? They’re a part of Rose, and... Is he Rose’s lover now? Fuck, it’s hard to think. The tentacle in his mouth is trying to fuck its way into his throat, dripping ichor that’s cold all the way down until it ignites in his guts. He is, paradoxically, on fire. 

His asshole is worked open by centimeters while his nook is brutalized--the tentacle only thickens the longer it fucks him, pulsing and knocking into his limit. He feels stretched open and used up, dripping genetic material as Rose hovers over top of him. She’s lost her skirt and he doesn’t know when, only that he’s burning in this freezing room and godawful mutant tears are dripping from his eyes. He can’t breathe. He’s choking on tentacle and he tries to cry out as Rose, somehow, kneels over top of him. 

Rose shushes him and touches his bulge again, this time guiding it toward her unfamiliar human pussy. It’s like a nook, really, but hers is cold and pink and gushing clearish fluid rather than the red he knows flows in her veins. She sinks down on him just as a thick tentacle finally pushes all the way into his ass. His voice is still muffled, but his scream should be obvious. 

It shouldn’t feel good. This should be sickening--demeaning--he trusts Rose, but he shouldn’t trust her enough for this. Not enough for her to put weird broodfester wigglers inside him. 

But it doesn’t matter what he tells himself, because as he’s jostled from all sides, fucked in mouth and nook and ass, Rose bouncing on his squirming bulge, he knows that he loves this. Maybe he wants these wigglers after all, if she can make him feel like this the whole time. He cums hard, great gouts of blood red into Rose’s cunt. She locks tight around him, presses close, wiggles her hips in inches as if to try and lock in everything she can. It’s far too much for a human to take in, but she moans in sonorous, multivocal tones as though him filling her is the best thing she’s ever felt.

Maybe it is. Maybe so much heat when she’s so cold does something to the core of her, because suddenly the tentacles are fucking him harder. They’d be punching the air out of him if his throat wasn’t also full. As it stands his vision is blurry from tears and lack of breath and he can barely hear Rose saying, “It’s going to be beautiful, you’re going to be so beautiful,” in a loving, breathless voice. 

A torrential downpour of ichor fills him in twitches and bursts, deathly cold and viscous, shooting down his stomach and up into his guts and, most importantly, filling up his nook to the brim. He can hear it splashing out of him, but much of it also stays in him. His stomach swells from the volume of it. Rose is cooing with some voices and moaning with others. She’s all around him, all over him, and even when her tentacles withdraw she continues rocking him back and forth. 

“Karkat,” she whispers six times over, “Karkat, you’ve done so well.” 

Karkat’s very tired, is what he is. 

“Rose, I’m going to scream so much later,” he garbles back. His voice is hoarse, and the gentle rocking motion soothing. He feels like he’s gaping, and his jaw aches something fierce. Stuff is still leaking from his used, open holes, though much of it seems content to stay inside of him. It swirls as though alive, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it. 

Rose, who looks like a massacre’s taken place between her legs, laughs with eight voices and smiles with one. “I know you will. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”

“God--dammit.” He hiccups and lifts a fumbling arm to rub at his eyes. “I love you too, just. Don’t pull this on me again.”

“I’m afraid I can’t promise that,” she says. “But I don’t really think you mind all that much. Pregnancy will suit you very well, Karkat. Perhaps I’ll even join you.” Rose leans against him and pets his swollen stomach, smiling. “This is going to be wonderful.”


End file.
